


Guidance

by Rrrowr



Series: The Check List [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," says Stiles to Peter. "I made a list if you're still interested."</p><p>Or: Peter checks "blow jobs" off Stiles' list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guidance

"So," says Stiles after he's collapsed against the wall next to Peter. His face is flushed from running. His hands are dirty from mountain ash. There are things out there that want to kill them but it sounds like Derek is taking out the last of them. "I made a list if you're still interested."

Peter is too concerned with how close he might be to dying again to pretend he doesn't immediately know what Stiles is talking about. "Is now really the time?"

Stiles just grins. "Consider it motivation to get us both out alive?"

There's a retort on the tip of Peter's tongue, but just as he's about to say it, Scott is bursting out of the darkness with a roar to help Derek, leaping almost directly over Peter's head. Secretly, Peter's too grateful that he hasn't had to risk his own neck to get through the day alive, but grouses aloud about Derek and Scott being late to the party. He forgets entirely about what Stiles said until he's trudging his way back toward the edge of the warehouse district and Stiles is already there, waiting apparently.

"Need a ride?" Stiles says as he turns to climb into the driver seat. He tilts his head casually to the seat next to him. "Beats walking."

"Is this about your list?" Peter asks as Stiles starts driving. He doesn't like being vague with these kinds of matters. The drive to his apartment is short anyway. He'd rather know what Stiles wants before he's dropped off curbside.

"Maybe," Stiles says, shrugging. "We both made it out alive, so I figured…"

It's not a terrible plan but Peter is tired. His willingness is inversely proportional to how complicated Stiles' request is. "You figured...?" Peter encourages.

Stiles tightens his grip on the steering wheel. In the dim lighting from the passing street lights, it's hard to tell if he's blushing, but the uptick in his heartbeat is easy to hear. "It's just. I remember you liked it. Going down on me. I started to wonder if I would too."

"Oh," Peter says and leans in. He takes one of Stiles' hands off the wheel and puts it on his thigh, makes him drag his touch higher. "You want this?"

Stiles' next breath is shaky, but relieved. "Yeah."

Inviting Stiles up to his apartment is remarkably simple. He follows Peter on light feet, a slight skip in in his step that betrays his eagerness. Seeing him in the center of his livingroom feels bizarre, though — as if he shouldn't be here, in Peter's space, like they should be doing this in a fashion more similar to the last time — as some illicit encounter in the shadowy privacy of a near-empty parking lot. There's too much light here, and even more as Peter flicks the switches as he passes them on his way through the apartment. 

"So how do you want to do this?" Stiles asks. He scratches at his cheek, all nerves.

Peter hooks a hand behind Stiles' neck and pulls him along as he backs up toward the sofa. "No time like the present," he says and sits down, legs splayed wide enough to give Stiles room.

Stiles looks down at him, wavering in the space between Peter's knees. He sinks down slowly, balancing himself using his fingertips on Peter's thighs, and when he finally settles, he takes a deep breath.

"Do you want me to just…?" Stiles gestures vaguely toward Peter's crotch and then leans back, rubbing at his brow with a thumb.

Peter decides to give him some mercy. "Here," he says, and takes Stiles hands in his, flattening them over his legs and guiding them upward. "Do you remember what I did to you?"

"Vividly," Stiles admits with a small smile. It's only a little shaky. "I'm not sure I'm up for that level of performance though."

"I'm not interested in a performance," Peter says, voice dipping into a low timber that makes Stiles' lashes heavy. "I want you to enjoy every last second of this."

When Peter makes one of Stiles' hands cover him and squeeze, the moan he offers as incentive has Stiles becoming almost shyly alert as he takes over the movement, rubbing his hand over Peter's zipper until he's hard. 

"Can I?" Stiles asks, sliding his thumb under Peter's bulge before tapping his fingers against the button of his pants. "I wanna see you."

Stiles unzips Peter's pants and tugs down the waist until he has some room. Then it's him rising onto his knees to get his hand inside and watching Peter's face to gauge his reaction. He smiles faintly when Peter's mouth goes slack, when his knees spread just a tad further — still too nervous for his expression to broaden into a full grin. 

When faced when something new, Peter expected for Stiles to be more hesitant, but beyond that initial fear, Stiles apparently is all for jumping into the deep end immediately. He has to pull at Peter's pants some more to see everything — to have the full view of Peter from the tip of his cock, past the heavy ball sack, to the shadow of hair between his legs — but after that, his attention drops from Peter's face to watching the way Peter's length looks in his hand.

Stiles bends to nuzzle against Peter's hip, mouth open and breathing hot over his skin. He looks up when Peter slides his fingers through his hair. "You'll—" Stiles bites his lip, lashes dipping when Peter pulls his hair gently. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher. "You'll tell me if I do something you don't like?"

"I'll guide you," Peter promises, tightening his grip in Stiles' hair until the boy swallows thickly and whimpers. He doesn't ask if Stiles likes it. He doesn't need to. It's obvious from the way Stiles blushes to the way the scent of his arousal rises, thick and heady, into the air.

Peter lets Stiles do as he likes at first — just sits back and enjoys the wet heat of his mouth as it drags along his length, sucking wet kisses and giving quick and curious licks. He looks good, Peter thinks. His long lashes are fanned out across his reddening cheek bones. His mouth stretches easily in a soft circle when Stiles takes him in, and his hands are braced over Peter's hips, thumbs rubbing insistently in the hollows just inside. He's quiet, though, beyond the deep breathing, and focused on seeing how much of Peter's cock he can get into his mouth. It isn't much, but neither has Stiles choked in an effort to see his limits.

Squeezing his fingers along the back of Stiles' neck, Peter waits until Stiles has opened his mouth wide and started sliding down. The sound that Stiles makes when Peter holds him down is surprised, but Stiles doesn't fight him. His breathing becomes harsher, louder. The skin under Peter's hand gets hot, and he pushes Stiles down a little more. Stiles' mouth works around his length, panicked. His tongue pushes up hard along the vein. Peter sucks in a breath and grunts, trying to hold still when Stiles moans in reply and then letting him go a moment later.

Stiles pulls back with a wet gasp, saliva and precome coming away in strands sticking to his lower lip. He sucks it from his lip, chest heaving, and looks up at Peter with dark, dark eyes. Peter rubs his thumb at the corner of Stiles' mouth, finding some of the precome that he'd missed, and a weak whine slips out of Stiles' throat as Peter pushes his thumb into his mouth, hooking it behind his teeth.

"I like control," Peter murmurs — a soft admission that he gives, unbidden. Stiles keeps watching him with those dark, liquid eyes. His hands have gone lax over Peter's hips. When he blinks, he's slow to open his eyes again. "Something tells me it's not such a big deal for you."

Peter pulls Stiles back down to his cock by his teeth and urges his jaw wider by pressing his wet thumb against his cheek. Stiles swallows him down with a groan that gets cut off by Peter's cock pushing at the back of his mouth. Peter holds him there for a moment to see how he handles it. Stiles is breathing loud again, and when Peter's hand slides into his hair, he shudders all the way down to his toes.

He guides Stiles easily, pulling him back and then pushing him back down, controlling the depth and speed of his technique. Stiles sucks harder when Peter yanks at his hair, like he's aware that Peter's cock is going to be leaving his mouth and he wants more than anything to keep it there. But when Peter pulls him back down, he's back to being soft and loose, moaning as Peter weighs down on his tongue, pushing a little deeper every time.

"I'm going to choke you," is all the warning Peter gives him before he's dragging Stiles down that extra bit that gets the head of his cock past the tight ring of his throat. Stiles makes a strangled sound, choking, and Peter lets him go as soon as he starts to fight back.

Stiles falls back against the coffee table, hand rubbing at his neck. He coughs into his arm, breathing tightly, and then he's yanking his own pants open. "Fuck," he spits, voice sounding just a bit broken. "Fuck, I—"

With a growl, Peter grabs a handful of Stiles' hair again and sits up so that he can see the way Stiles jerks off while he's suckling at Peter's cock. He doesn't make Stiles deep throat him again, but he pushes in as deep as he dares, as deep as he needs to for Stiles to sound like he's dying.

"Go slower," Peter tells him, and Stiles — amazingly — goes still, hand tightening at the base of his cock, crammed against the barely parted zip of his jeans. His cheeks hollow as he sucks at Peter, though, like he's compensating for the lack of one pleasure with the joy of another. "I could have you like this every day, couldn't I?"

Stiles rests his cheek on Peter's thigh, baring his throat even as his hand slowly drags up to the tip of his length in a tight circle before sliding back down. He twitches between Peter's knees, waiting… waiting — beautiful enough to have Peter leaning down to tease Stiles' cock with a light touch. Stiles' cry is muffled around Peter's cock, and Peter wishes that he'd thought to have Stiles be naked for this. He'd like to see what would happen if he played with Stiles' nipples, if fucking his mouth would make that delightful flush spread down his torso.

"Do you want me to fuck your mouth?" Peter asks, scratching at Stiles' scalp as he adjusts the hold he has in Stiles' hair. "Do you want me to make you choke again?"

Blushing so hard that his ears turn red, Stiles nods and straightens up, letting himself be pulled into position so that his mouth is poised, open and waiting above Peter's cock. His hands are in fists against the sofa cushions. His dick is hard and leaking in the gap of his open fly. He looks obscene. Peter wants to ruin him completely.

Stiles can't make a sound as Peter thrusts into his mouth. Any sound he might make is cut off by his dick, smothered when his throat closes down reflexively. He chokes. He turns red. He has his eyes closed so tight that tears leak out. Peter jerks Stiles down on the last thrust and listens to him gag as Peter spills down his throat. Stiles coughs when Peter releases him, and he tilts to the side, resting his head on Peter's hip.

He sniffles while Peter smooths back the hair at his temples, and when Peter cups the back of his neck and pulls, Stiles climbs onto the sofa on shaky limbs, pouring himself against Peter's side like he wants to fit perfectly under the curve of his arm. When Peter wraps his fingers around his dick, Stiles gasps, arching into it, and seeing his head falling back weakly, Peter's helpless to resist putting his mouth against that throat.

Stiles comes loudly, all trembling moans and rough shouts. His long fingers pull so hard at Peter's shirt that he threatens to stretch out the fabric. He gets come all over the both of them, but Peter doesn't care in the least. He feels only a deep seated satisfaction, knowing that Stiles looks so thoroughly debauched because of him.

It's only after — when he's cleaned up a little and had something to drink — that Stiles speaks again.

"That was, um." He scratches at his chin and rubs under the swell of his mouth. He's back to being nervous, now that he's not caught up in the overwhelming sweep of arousal. "That was good," he says.

"Very," Peter agrees, leaning in the door that leads to the kitchen. 

His pants are still open, though he's pulled them back up. He wonders if Stiles can tell that he's thinking about pushing him down to his knees and fucking his mouth again. From the way Stiles' eyes linger, he doesn't think there'd be any argument.

"About the rest of your list," he starts. Stiles stops with his hand on the front door and turns, looking hopeful. "What else was on there?"

Stiles smiles slyly, skin turning pink. "It was pretty inclusive. I don't there's anything I didn't think of. It would've been easier if you asked me to list the things I don't want to try."

Peter raises a brow. "Oh? And what things have you already eliminated?"

"Anything to do with poop, let's be real," Stiles says with a faint edge of humor. "And uh, anything that would involve me wearing a diaper. Nothing that would cause permanent damage, physically or mentally. But I think… I think maybe the rest is something we could consider."

"So if I snuck into your bedroom tonight," Peter says, listening to the way Stiles' heart starts to pound with anticipation. "If I tied you to your bed and licked your hole until you came, that would be something you'd consider?"

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide and sort of wild. "Yes," he breathes. "Yeah, that'd— Tonight?"

"Maybe," Peter says. "Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe next week."

Stiles sags against the door. "Jesus. You're not going to tell me?"

Peter smiles as he approaches Stiles with a swagger to his walk. "I don't like to warn for something so trivial. Besides," he adds and taps his fingers under Stiles' chin, "I think you'll like waiting for me, wondering if I'm going to show."

Nodding, Stiles seems to find it in himself to reach for the door knob again, to make some sort of effort to leave. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. I'll… I'll wait, but—"

"But?"

Stiles leans in a little. "Don't keep me waiting too long," he says, and in the next instant, the door is shut between them.

Peter puts his hand on the door, listening to Stiles standing on the other side of it. The boy breathes deeply, attempting for control. Peter thinks he hears Stiles laugh softly before he runs.


End file.
